


This Is How We Fall Apart

by wholewheatpopcorn



Series: Kidnapping AU [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholewheatpopcorn/pseuds/wholewheatpopcorn
Summary: The road to recovery is a long and hard one. Maximus knew glass towers were always meant to break but that didn't make him any more prepared for his to come toppling down.
Relationships: Muse | Maximus Taylor & Virus | Maxwell Vincent Tyler
Series: Kidnapping AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878679
Kudos: 1





	This Is How We Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Kidnapping AU: Vincent and Maximus were college friends who were in love with each other, not that they ever told each other. After graduation, Max leaves to New Jersey to take on a teaching job. Bitter that Max left him, Vincent kidnaps Max and starts impersonating him. Torture was involved.

Maximus hates the kitchen. He hates how bright the yellow lights shine, hates the hum of the refrigerator, hates the clanking of the pots and pans when he pulls things out of the cabinet, hates how the shadows pool into the corners of the kitchen and flicker with unknown life. He hates the kitchen but he has to enter it everyday anyways. There’s really no avoiding the one place that provides him with the nutrients to keep his flesh body moving and his wallet can’t afford to pay for takeout every single day.

Despite Maximus’s intense hatred for the kitchen, he finds that some kitchens are more tolerable than others. He’s not sure whether he prefers when someone is in the kitchen with him or if he likes the new kitchen in his new apartment, but he figures that it’s better than the kitchen of his old home. Home. Well, if it can even be called a home and not a hell house hotbed of emotional and physical trauma. 

Not that it matters. 

Maximus hates the smell of cooking meat, but both his doctor and Phillip beg him to add more protein into his diet so he assumes it’s something worth trying. Tonight he decides to suck up his inhibitions and pull a bright purple pan out of the cabinets. Bright purple because he can’t stand the color red anymore and something always keeps him from picking blue or black like he would if he were younger and more naive. 

The pan is settled onto the store and the fire is ignited. Max turns to the fridge to remove his selection of meat only to be paused by a wet nose pressing into his leg and two shining black eyes. Bellona sits obediently at his heels, her tail wagging furiously and her ears perked up. She looks not so subtlety at the open fridge and then back at Max.  _ Silly dog _ . A smile makes its way into Max’s face and he pretends to heave an exasperated sigh. Carefully, he pulls out his cut of steak and rewards Bellona’s adorable charm with a carrot. 

Bellona munches away at her treat as Maximus regards the now heated pan. He works methodically: pouring in the oil, waiting for the oil to heat up, lowering the heat, and finally adding in the meat. The steak sizzles away on the stove and Maximus thinks to himself that this isn’t so bad. It’s just steak. Phillip bought him some seasoning when he first moved in so he can probably use it so spruce up his steak too. 

Wielding his tongs like a weapon, Max expertly flips the steak onto the other side and covers the pan with its lid. He waits patiently by the stove for the steak to finish cooking, feeling a bit proud of himself as he idly pets Bellona’s head. When the timer goes off, he picks up his oven mitts and carefully lifts the cover of the pan. 

He gets two seconds to admire the sear on the steak before the smell hits his nose full force. The pan lid slips from his fingers and clatters loudly to the floor but the sound barely registers in Max’s mind. 

Max staggers backwards, away from the threatening figure that starts advancing towards him. Vincent has an oven mitt on and he holds onto a seemingly innocuous black pan. There’s a wide smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes and the sight makes Muse’s blood freeze over. 

“Maxie.” Vincent croons and Max’s back hits the counter. He looks desperately to his right and left for an escape but Vincent closes the distance before he can run. “When will you learn to be more careful? I’ve tolerated it for so long.” 

Max wants to move his hands, he wants to punch Vincent, he wants to get away. But his hands are tied behind his back and all he can do is scream as searing hot pain spreads from his abdomen and the smell of burning flesh fills his nose and—

Max is on the kitchen floor, crumpled into a pathetic ball. He takes ragged, rapid breaths in, clutching his sides as sweat rolls down his forehead. Bellona paws at him incessantly, whining loudly as she tries to shove her face into his arms. It takes Maximus a while to get a grip over himself and he can’t bring himself to look at Bellona as he runs his trembling fingers through her fur. 

“I’m ok.” He says quietly. “I’m ok, Bell. It’s ok.” 

The smell of burnt steak reaches him again and he pushes himself away from Bellona to turn his head and retch loudly. His burning self hatred is matched only by the acid burn of bile being regurgitated up his throat. He hates this. He hates Vincent. He hates himself. 

Glass towers, he thinks to himself, were always meant to break. As the days go on, the tremors in the translucent glass beneath him grow stronger and stronger. This glass tower of his, held up only by spite and pride, is slowly eroding away. It’s only a matter of time before the tower comes crashing down on him. 

He doesn’t know what he fears more. The idea that the mental structure that’s been keeping him alive all this time will eventually be reduced to a pile of shards and rubble. Or the inevitable feeling of falling as the glass crumbles beneath his feet, sending him plummeting down, down, down to the ground. 

Maximus leans back against the cabinet. A plume of grey smoke snakes it’s way around the room, spilling from what was once a pan containing his steak dinner. Overhead, the fire alarm beeps continuously and it annoys Maximus enough to motivate him to get up. 

He sighs. 

So much for a steak dinner. He’ll just order takeout again. 

* * *

Maximus isn’t the only one impacted by Vincent’s actions and the truth that came to light just a few months ago. 

He knows he isn’t. 

Sebastian and Phillip are both dealing with the knowledge that the person they thought was their friend was actually a clinical sociopath impersonating their friend. Maximus figures that it can’t be easy on them but of course he thinks it’s silly for them to feel any guilt at all. It’s not their fault things turned out like this and no one could’ve helped it. Though he might have felt some injustice and anger during his time of captivity, those accusatory emotions feel so far away. He just feels empty now. 

His friends, Phillip especially, are still learning how to be around him. Maximus has changed so much in these past years and the person they’ve grown accustomed to being around was nothing but a fraud. Personally, Maximus doesn’t know why they bother putting in the effort and trying when they know he isn’t capable of connecting with them on the same level anymore but he guesses that’s what makes them his friends. If it were him, he’s not sure he would’ve bothered. 

They play a weird song and dance, trying to prance in shoes that no longer fit. No one wants to acknowledge the change — or maybe just Maximus doesn’t want to— but the changes that have been made are too big to ignore. 

Maximus goes out for lunch with Phillip and Sebastian. 

They eat at a small Thai restaurant that isn’t new to them but is to him. He orders his food and picks away at it slowly as Phillip and Sebastian fill the air with their chattering. Though the topics and the banter are familiar, they feel so distant to him. So far away, like a distant memory that fades with time, leaving only a breath of nostalgia in its wake. Every so often the two glance back at him, quickly and secretly, with their expressions filled with worry. Maximus hates that his friends feel like they have to walk on eggshells around him but he can’t help it. What can he do about it? No matter how much he tries to act, they always see through it with those pitying eyes of theirs. 

When lunch is done, they resolve to stroll through a nearby park. 

“You need more exercise anyways.” Sebastian points out. 

“You’re too young to be telling me what I need.” Maximus snarks back. Still, he agrees to the stroll and finds the quiet scenery quite... nice. As Sebastian tells tales of his reptiles at home, Maximus laments not bringing Bellona with him. She would have enjoyed playing in the park but he will just have to bring her along next time. Time passes quite pleasantly and before long Maximus stands in the parking lot bidding his goodbyes to his friends. 

“Max.” Phillips says almost hesitantly. 

Maximus raises a brow and turns to face him. 

“I’ve looked into the available clinics nearby and I compiled a list of them ranked by their reviews. I’ll send them over to you tonight.”

“Clinics?” Max repeats slowly, his expression twisting up with distaste. “What for?”

Phillip’s brow wrinkles and he reaches out as if to put his hand on Max’s shoulder but thinks better of it. “I know you don’t like it but you should really consider seeing a therapist. It’ll help.”

“Why would I see a therapist?” Max’s voice raises in volume a little and Sebastian looks worried but he can’t bring himself to care right now. They probably planned this all along. They planned to lower his guard and make him think they’re his friends then corner him with this ridiculous suggestion. They think that he can’t do anything anymore. They think he’s pathetic. They think he can’t control his own life anymore.

“I don’t need therapy.” Max spits out, eyes narrowed. “I’m not some pathetic victim that needs a shrink to put them back together again. I’m perfectly fine on my own, I’m handling this just fine. I don’t need a therapist.” He sounds almost hysterical as he steps away from Sebastian and Phillip. 

“We never said that you are.” Sebastian says quickly. He lifts his hands and shows Maximus his palms in an attempt to placate him. “And we’ve never thought of you as weak or pathetic. You’re strong, Max! Very strong to have made it through the ordeals that you have in one piece. We don’t doubt your ability to handle things on your own, you’ve been looking after yourself all this time after all!”

Sebastian takes a slow step forward. And another. “But even the strongest of warriors need to rest to heal their wounds sometimes. And sure, they can heal them on their own but they can also be aided! That doesn’t mean they’re any weaker for accepting this aid. There’s people who can help, Max. If you have pain in your body, you go to the doctor. If you have a pain in your mind, you go to a therapist. They can help. We’re not going to force you to go or anything, we just want you to be aware of the resources that are available to you.”

“We’re just trying to look out for you, Maximus. We care about you.” Phillip adds softly. 

The tension in Max’s shoulders release and he holds his gaze before flicking his eyes downward. He doesn’t move when Phillip and Sebastian step closer and out their hands on his shoulder. 

“It’s ok to rely on others sometimes, Max. It’s ok to accept help.” Phillip consoles. “All we want to do is help you.” Max looks up to meet Phillip’s concerned but caring gaze and he crinkles his nose. 

“Fine.” He sighs. “I’ll look into it.” 

The wide smiles that break onto Phillip and Sebastian’s faces are irritating enough to make Max punch them both in the gut and retreat to his car. 

As the car door slams shut besides him, his glass tower shudders violently. Maximus finds that the cracks slowly spreading across the walls don’t concern him as much as they did before. 

* * *

Therapy is hard. 

Therapy sucks. 

Maximus hates therapy. 

Of course, that isn’t so surprising. Maximus has never been the type to enjoy being emotionally vulnerable with his friends and when a stranger is introduced to the equation it makes it all the more difficult for him try. He doesn’t like it. 

Still, he persists. He attends his sessions and begins to unpack the burdensome luggage he’s been carrying with him all this time. It’s funny how difficult the act of sitting in a chair and talking can get. 

Maximus initially hoped that therapy would be an easy fix to his emotional turmoil. He hoped that things would immediately feel better once he started attending sessions. He was wrong. Of course he was wrong. 

It’s on the plush couch of his therapist’s office when his glass tower finally breaks. Everything that he has been holding in comes pouring out and he hates how vulnerable it makes him feel but still he can’t stop himself from falling off the glass tower’s edge. 

He comes home from each session feeling more drained than when he started, with the taste of acid and sand in his mouth. His therapist tells him that now that his brain is no longer working to just survive, it is taking the time it needs to heal and deal with the repercussions of everything. 

Maximus knows this already. He understands the facts and logics behind it. Though it’s been a long time since he’s taken a psychology class, he still remembers the basic principles. Still, it doesn’t make the process any easier for him. It doesn’t take away the weak, pathetic feeling he is always left with whenever his therapist forces him to confront his flashbacks. 

Things get worse before they get better. 

Maximus still wakes up screaming from his nightmares sometimes. He still can’t physically cook meat without throwing up at least once. When he goes outside, he’s constantly watching the shadows for fear that something will leap out and attack him. 

Maximus still feels as terrible as he’s always has but his therapist tells him he’s getting better and his friends seem less tense whenever they’re around him so he has to believe it’s true. 

One day he’ll look back at his glass tower and think nothing of the rubble that remains. The glass shards that used to seem so jagged and dangerous will be nothing more than smooth, translucent pebbles. Amidst the ruins, grass will grow once more and stubborn weeds will reach towards the sunlight with no care for what preceded their time. In the center of it all, a great tree will unfurl, a reminder that there is still beauty in life and still love to be given. 

For now, though, Max is still falling. He’s falling through the air, watching glass bricks tear away from his tower as the sky gets further and further away. The wind and the glass cuts through his skin as he plummets and he can only wonder when his back will hit the ground.


End file.
